


The Perfect Shade of Red

by adaille



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (No Bullying Between Dean and Cas), Bullying, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 14:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: In which Cas finds a new muse for his art. One with green eyes and freckles.The boy turns, his eyes too bright and too green for even the fluorescent light to wash out. He blushes, pink gathering in his ears then spreading across his cheeks, across his nose, and Castiel resists the urge to count his freckles.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	The Perfect Shade of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all. These past few months have been ridiculous. Work went upside down on me in a way I didn't expect, and it's mostly okay now, it's just. _Change._
> 
> Those two WIPs mid-post? They're actually almost finished! You just can't see the rest of them yet, because I haven't done any of the editing I need to do. Because I'm garbage, apparently.
> 
> Have this instead. <3

The football jocks, laughing after gym class. _Novak’s so weird._ He keeps walking.

The girls, chatting together at the lunch tables, staring over to where Castiel sits by himself on the bleachers, staring off into the trees beyond the practice field. _What’s he doing? _He keeps staring, pretending he can’t hear them, studying the way the light filters through the leaves, planning how to shade them later in greys, and in yellow-greens.

A classmate in the hall, grabbing the new kid’s arm after the boy sat next to Castiel in class. _Dude, stay away from him. He’s like, so strange. His family have to be serial killers or something. He never talks._ It stings briefly, the cycle continuing, the old guard ‘warning’ the newcomers, but he’s used to it by now. He’s had lots of practice, shoving it down where it almost doesn’t hurt anymore. Almost.

Three teachers, sipping their cups of afternoon coffee in the staff area, the door not quite closed. _Castiel is…odd. His home life—_ He hurries past, hunching forward, gripping his sketchbook to his chest like a shield.

Two boys he’s never learned the name of, sneering together by the lockers. _You should see the shit he draws in that book of his. Really freaky shit. Like, nightmares or something._

He’s already curling into himself, gripping his lunch tray tight in shame white hands when he finally hears his name from the new kid’s lips. It was only a matter of time. He hurries, but he can’t get away fast enough. He’s too close to them.

“Cas…fuck, he’s so beautiful,” the new boy sighs to the girl beside him. “You think he’d talk to me if I said hi?”

Castiel almost trips, narrowly saving his food. The redhead—Charlie—punches the new boy in his shoulder, then tilts her head in Castiel’s direction.

The boy turns, his eyes too bright and too green for even the fluorescent light to wash out. He blushes, pink gathering in his ears then spreading across his cheeks, across his nose, and Castiel resists the urge to count his freckles.

Castiel fails. There’s twenty-three. Twenty-four, if he counts the very light spot to the left of the boy’s eyebrow. He decides to count it. Twenty-three is prime, and prime numbers can be intimidating. There’s nothing intimidating about this boy or his freckles. His flush darkens until Castiel knows just the shade of pencil to capture the deepest parts.

“Um, hi? I’m…I’m Dean,” the boy stammers.

“Can I draw you?” Castiel asks. He realizes when the boy—Dean—blinks back at him that perhaps he should’ve greeted Dean first. Now, Dean will think Castiel is odd, too. Now, Dean will laugh at him for being strange. Now, Dean will—

“Sure?” Dean answers, uncertainty lacing his voice. “Sure,” Dean says again, softer this time, steady now, a smile tilting his lips, tongue flicking out to wet the lower one as he bites it, and oh, Castiel has the best shade of pink, just for that.

“The light’s better outside,” Castiel says, and Dean, soft and red and pink and freckled Dean, he stands. He stands, and they go outside, forgetting Charlie. Forgetting everyone.

Four months later, he’s the only thing in Castiel’s newest sketchbook.


End file.
